


flugel der fahrenheit

by zxanthe



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Dancing with the stars - Freeform, Elemental Magic, Eren Yeager Sees The Ocean, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I'm dying, Love, Robots, THESE ARE ALL SO OLD, Valentine's Day, Zombies, blood guts n gore, but i really want to save them yknow, god damn it tumblr, jesus christ - Freeform, the ocean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 23:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 11,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16842610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zxanthe/pseuds/zxanthe
Summary: Archive/dumping ground for old tumblr SNK fic.





	1. a note about levi

**Author's Note:**

> god these are so old i want to die. keeping these around as a testament to how far i've come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published January 4, 2014

_His blades were driven into his heart, one for each of them. He didn’t feel them (or at least that’s what he told himself) but he knew it was only a matter of time before his body cut itself to pieces on their sharp, bloodstained edges. But he was among humanity’s strongest and they needed him, needed the hope, the courage, the shining hero he represented, so he squared his shoulders and continued on. What were four more holes, after all?_


	2. the ocean is so beautiful (armin & mikasa & eren)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published January 26, 2014

She stands up to her waist in the water. It’s beautiful, really, the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, so incomprehensibly vast and moody and shifting. Her mouth parts and in the air she can taste the salt, because in this instant she finally understands their longing to see the world because that longing’s in her heart now too.

She hears splashing footsteps behind her, but she doesn’t turn. She can hear him breathing beside her, but she stares straight ahead.

“Wow,” says Armin softly beside her. She doesn’t say anything in reply, but he can read her silences and among the warm ocean waters his hand somehow finds hers. She grips his fingers. Her other hand lifts to her neck, but the key isn’t there. She left it back on the beach, along with her scarf.

Inside her heart, he’s breathless with wonder. He’s yelling and screaming and splashing them all with water and lifting her in a great big hug and twirling her, diving beneath the waves and trying to stealthily grab their legs but flailing about and making a miserable mess of it and they’re laughing, they’re happy, and when it’s all said and done and the sun is setting the three of them stand in the waves holding hands, like it’s always been. But instead three has become just two, and they stare out into the incomprehensible vast emptiness and don’t smile and think about the way it should have been.

Even in the warm ocean waters, it’s cold.


	3. no longer than a second (eren/mikasa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published February 4 for EreMika week 2014, prompt "First Time"

The first time they saw the ocean was the first time they kissed. It had happened suddenly, unexpectedly: she and Armin and Eren were hugging each other on the beach, laughing, celebrating, because they were free, truly free, from that omnipresent fear that had hung over them since the day Wall Maria fell. She’d opened her eyes to see something flash in Eren’s and then his lips were on hers for no longer than a second, but that second took her breath away.


	4. is this humanity? (eren/mikasa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published February 8, 2014 for Eremika week, day four, prompt "Warmth"

ERROR CODE 405: LEG L AND LEG R UNRESPONSIVE. INITIATING SHUTDOWN SEQUENCE 12.5

it doesn’t have legs anymore, but that’s fine, because they’re gone, useless anyway. the bombs made sure of that.

ERROR CODE 405: ARM L MALFUNCTION. INITIATING SHUTDOWN SEQUENCE 12

no, it thinks, but too late, the power’s gone. it supposes that it was for the best, because the very thing that gives it life could also bring it death.

ERROR CODE 2000: SYSTEM MALFUNCTION. DAMAGE LEVEL 10 SUSTAINED TO LEFT ABDOMEN, RIGHT PROCESSOR CAVITY. INITIATING SHUTDOWN SEQUENCE 1

first, the remains of its lower body. it wonders, briefly, if it fought bravely.

05

now the middle. they always said number 104 was the best of them all, but a little defective just the same.

04

it was never sure how to feel about that (were Soldiers supposed to feel things?).

03

its one remaining hand digs into the soft dirt. the arm hums and shudders as it pulls itself forward.

02

“My God,” says the human, and it kneels in front of it so all there is to see are threadbare pants and then its eyes, gray, no, silver.

01

the first time a human touched it, it realizes it’s never felt anything quite so warm.

* * *

INITIATING REBOOT SEQUENCE: PLEASE STAND BY

IT CAN FEEL EVERYTHING! THE KISS OF THE AIR, SO COLD, LADEN WITH FINE PARTICLES TO SCRAPE AND BURN ITS FRAGILE SKIN! IT CAN FEEL THE COLD SMOOTH METAL BENEATH IT, PRESSING AGAINST IT, SO HARD, SO HARD! THE CURRENT SINGS THROUGH ITS WIRES, (EXCEPT THEY CANNOT BE WIRES, THEY CANNOT BE!), AND WITHIN ITS BREAST DELICATE MACHINATIONS TURN AS SOMETHING BRIGHT AND COLD SHUDDERS TO LIFE WITHIN, PROPELLING IT INTO SUCH WONDERFUL AGONY AS IT HAS NEVER KNOWN!

 _is this humanity?_ it wonders, and it must be, because this is the only logical explanation as to why they cannot fight.

* * *

they lie together. it’s not logical, but they do it anyway. this body isn’t a pleasure bot’s. there is nothing to gain from this interaction.

 _except_ , says another part of her brain, buried deep amid wires and metal and cold hard facts, _there is_.

he’s so warm against her. his heat pushes its way past her soft outer shell and into the jagged and cold place that is within her. it makes the power cell in her chest shiver, it makes her circuits shudder. she can feel his own power source, his heart, pounding against his rib cage, straining to get out, nudging her chest cavity. because of that hammer in his breast he saved her, this reckless, illogical, unfathomable creature.

it’s glorious. he’s glorious. “Eren,” she says, and his silver-gray eyes open. “Mikasa,” he says, and smiles.

she presses her mouth against his, because she wants his warm breath to fill her.

* * *

his heart is quiet.

human hearts are not supposed to be quiet. ever.

but his is.

the body he built her is riddled with holes. the bodies of the strangers are broken and twisted. (she is a Soldier, after all.)

a pool of red oozes from the wound in his chest. warm, but quickly cooling. she dips her hand in it.

 _this is the stuff of human beings_.

seventy percent water beneath the skin. if water somehow permeated her impermeable shell, it would mean the end.

“Eren,” she says.

he doesn’t answer. he always answers.

her body is shaking. this is illogical. nothing is wrong.

_EVERYTHING IS WRONG!  
_

“Eren!”

his silver eyes are open. they stare at nothing.

“EREN!”

is this humanity? this fragility, this ephemeralness, this strange red water? all she knows is that he’s cold.

so very, very cold.

he’s never cold.

oh.

it’s like she’s falling, which is strange, because she is crouched on solid ground. her body is shaking and heaving and clanking, which is strange, because her systems are perfectly stable.

she cradles him to her chest, this human, this illogical, dead human. she feels his blood smear across her front, cold, so cold, so cold, and in that moment she realizes that there is nothing, absolutely nothing that she can do to fix him.


	5. happy birthday to you (eren/mikasa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published February 10, 2014 for Eremika week, day 7, prompt "Birthday/Flowers"

She’s contemplating life and death when they arrive, singing “Happy Birthday” at the tops of their lungs. By some strange and wondrous magic Armin has produced a small cake and Eren a ridiculously elaborate crown of flowers, and it is with great pomp and circumstance that they present them. She can’t help but smile at their antics, and together the three sit on the porch of the cabin and watch the sunset, nibbling on the pieces of cake Mikasa insisted they take.

And later, when it’s cool and dark and Armin has gone inside (she didn’t miss the knowing look he exchanged with Eren, though), Eren whispers “Happy birthday, Mikasa,” and somehow in the dark his lips find her cheek, quick and warm, before he too disappears behind the door, and Mikasa is left with a blush in her cheeks and warmth in her heart.


	6. broken ribs, broken hearts (sasha/connie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published February 24, 2014

She can feel her ribs breaking. Through the black splotches blooming ever larger across her vision she can see the titan’s gaping mouth, red and hot and wet. She wants to scream, but she can’t find the breath. Her heart is beating a million miles an hour and all she can think is _nonononono_ -

“SASHAAA!” someone screams. And then the pressure is gone and she hangs suspended in space until the ground slams into her back, hard. Her teeth slice through her tongue and she can’t breathe and she can barely see and there is only ringing, ringing, ringing where the sounds of the battle should be. She knows she should get up, that lying down means death, but _oh God it hurts can’t breathe it hurts it hurts_ …

Tears leak from her eyes. She’s failed.

“Sasha,” says someone very far away, and then she’s being pulled apart. She screams, or tries to, but all that really comes out is this awful choked gurgle.

“You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay, Sash, you hear me? You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay.”

 _Connie_ , she thinks, as his face looms above her, blurry, shifting. She draws a breath to say his name, but instead she’s rewarded with _pain_. Her chest explodes in red hot fire. Something is stabbing her, something’s not right, oh God oh God oh _God_. She can only whimper her agony.

“Stay with me, c’mon Sasha,” Connie says. “I’ve got some potatoes stashed back at the barracks. I know how much you love potatoes. Just hang on. We’ll eat them when we get back.” His voice is shaking, she realizes, and then she can see his face clearer when he leans closer. She sees his wide wet eyes.

It hurts so much, but she cries anyway, because she’ll never get to taste those potatoes, she knows that now. She coughs, and something warm and metallic slides up her throat, flies from her lips.

Connie’s cradling her in his arms. She can feel hot tears dripping one by one on her cheeks, his or hers she doesn’t know. Her heart beats faster, even though every beat sends a stab of pain through her body.

“Ah don’ wanna die,” she moans through her ruined tongue. _  
_

“You’re not,” says Connie, but his voice is cracked in a way she’s never heard before. “You’re not,” he repeats, and then his lips are on hers. He tastes like sweat and blood and fear and desperation but his mouth is warm and his breath is hot and this just makes her sob all the harder because she’s wanted this for a very long time. But she breaks the kiss before she wants to, with coughs and cries. Connie hugs her tighter. “I love you, goddammit,” he says, and lifts her in his arms.

The world is a crazy blur of color and light and pain. Every step Connie takes sends a lightning bolt forking through her body, making her nerves scream. She fights to stay conscious because she knows that if she allows herself to slip into the sweet blackness creeping across her mind it’ll all be over.

It’ll all be over.

 _The potatoes_ , she thinks, but she can’t taste them. It’s just blood, blood, blood, filling her ruined lungs, bubbling up her throat, dripping from her nose. The blackness spreads like a fungus over her vision, thick and heady, and the last thing she feels is a sense of anguish so acute it’s a wonder the whole world isn’t screaming.


	7. candlelight (levi/petra)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published March 11, 2014  
> slight NSFW.

he can feel her heartbeat. it makes her entire body shudder with its will, its force, its defiant vitality. in this dim place between sleep and wakefulness he can almost believe that it will never, ever stop and that she will be with him always, warm and solid and whole.

“ _Let’s get married,_ ” she whispered to him in that silent gray space between night and morning. he’d only sighed at that, softly (but in that quiet it was deafening). as he’d rolled out of bed he felt her eyes on him, sad and wistful.

she snores a little, a light rasp on every exhalation. her hair smells like sweat and horseshit and the smallest hint of something flowery. she has a mole on the inside of her left thigh and her smile is like the sun, bright and warm and real, and she somehow turns the disgustingly shitty coffee they’re given into something resembling the actual beverage. she’s one of the kindest, most loyal people he’s known, always keeping morale up, always caring, always Petra.

he presses his lips to the back of her neck and curses the night he fell in love with her.

she’d had another nightmare, and so he’d sat across the table from her, like he always did. and he’d been watching her from the corner of his eye, watched the way the candlelight played among the angles of her face, watched how it made her blue eyes dance, her auburn hair shimmer, and something in the cold hard rigidity (except it wasn’t, not really) that was his heart shifted ever so slightly out of place.

she hums and rolls over so that she’s nose to nose with him, eyes half-open, still asleep but smiling. “Morning,” she says, and kisses him, her warm cracked lips lingering softly, sweetly on his. he wants to push her away, he wants to make her smile like that again, he wants to fuck her. but he doesn’t do any of those things, just lets her hang suspended in her dream for a few moments more before the heavy weight of reality settles once more on her narrow shoulders.


	8. maneuver gear mishap (eren/annie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published March 15, 2014

He squeezes the handgrips, and then he’s flying. He can’t hold back a laugh, because _damn_ it’s so incredible, the wind in his hair and the burn in his muscles and the fact that he feels like he can do anything- 

At least, until he collides head-on with something that feels hard as a fucking rock, and then something that’s probably a tree, and finally something hard and flat.

“Shit,” he gasps, because his breath is gone and he’s on the ground. From somewhere to his left he hears a grunt, and then Annie’s face ( _fucking shit_ ) looms into view. “Dammit,” she growls, and she’s tugging on something and it hits him that he’d probably better get the hell up right now because it’s their first time using the 3D gear and if Shadis sees them he’ll throw a fit.

He sits up and suddenly he’s staring right into Annie Leonhardt’s bright blue eyes, nose almost touching hers. His heart kicks into high gear and for a moment he can’t breathe because holy shit it’s almost like they’re about to-

Her hand collides with his chest, pushing him away, although he thinks that she didn’t use nearly as much force as she could have.

“Help me with this,” she says, not looking at him, and then his eyes fall on the hopeless mess of jumbled steel cables and he groans.

She gives him look that plainly says _shut up, this is all your fault_ , and then they set to work.

Eren fancies that he can see the faintest hint of a blush in her cheeks.


	9. of annoying cats that follow you everywhere (eren/mikasa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published March 31, 2014  
> reincarnation fic, hence the name changes.

He has a cat now. Connor’s not sure how he feels about that. 

That afternoon, he’d decided to skip class, because if he had to hear _one more word_ out of that prick Aaron’s mouth, he was going to punch the guy in his stupid horsey face. He’d been sprawled across the roots of the oldest, most gnarled oak tree in the park when he heard a plaintive-sounding mewl and sat up to behold a cat, black-furred and gray of eye. A sick, starving creature, barely able to stay on its feet. He had taken pity on it at once and fed it.

Bad idea. After that, the little guy followed him _everywhere_ , even slipping inside the classroom to curl, purring softly, in his lap. Naturally, it didn’t take long for Aaron to notice and start fucking _commenting_ on it, so this time Connor lost his temper and punched him squarely in the nose. He regrets _nothing_ about that particular incident (it was satisfying as hell, actually), although he told the cat sternly to stay the fuck outside (and had to bodily toss it out the door on numerous occasions) after that. Even so, he’d catch it lurking outside on the windowsills, watching him with that stern gray gaze.

He wonders, though, as he strokes the cat’s silky dark fur beneath the gnarled old oak tree, if it’s normal for such a creature to show this particular degree of devotion to a human. After all, in his experience cats were finicky little assholes who didn’t give a single shit whether you lived or died, as long as they got fed. This was a more doggish behavior, although he didn’t think that even a dog would show this degree of loyalty to someone they’ve only recently met.

In the end, because it’s not going away and he might as well name it, he decides to call the cat Shadow. When he tells her so, she purrs and licks his nose with her rough pink tongue. Connor would never have considered himself a cat person, but somehow, slowly…he’s warming up to the idea. “Stop it!” he laughs, as Shadow bats at his face with soft fuzzy paws.

Yeah. Definitely warming up to it.


	10. college au (levi/petra)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published April 15, 2014  
> prompt: _Anonymous asked: Rivetra college AU?_

“Remind me again,” says Levi, “why we agreed to come to this shitty party?”

“Hanji and Erwin were really psyched about it…”

“Since when are the Dynamic Duo _not_ psyched about every little thing?”

She sighs. “Never.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “They’re probably fucking in a dark corner right now, knowing them.”

Petra flops back into the couch. “Ugh, this music is giving me a headache. And we have a major exam tomorrow.” She rubs her temples. “Damn, I wish I’d driven my car…”

“C’mon,” says Levi, standing up abruptly. “Let’s get outta here.”

“But…it’s raining outside and we don’t have a ride…”

“Don’t be a pussy. We can just get a cab.”

Petra shivers at the thought of standing in the cold, but stands, because in all honesty _anything_ is better than this.

As they walk out the door, however, Levi pulls an umbrella from some hidden pocket in his coat and spreads it over them both. In this, Petra can’t help but smile, because he does care after all.


	11. perfume (levi/petra)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published April 15, 2014  
> prompt: _nonsense-shit asked: Rivetra - perfume_

The scent is so _different_ from the heady funk of cigarette smoke that he pauses in his work, breathes it in. For a few moments he’s disoriented, because there is _no fucking way_ that any of his sweaty, anxious coworkers could smell like this, so fresh and lovely. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t place the smell, not until he glances towards the door and sees her, her carefully curled hair and immaculate clothing-

_Clean linen. That’s it._

He can’t help but resent this strange woman a little, because he’s spent _hours_ trying to get the stink of cigarettes out of his shirts to absolutely no avail. He quit trying some days ago, ever since December 7th, 1941 (he remembers the day exactly, because the newspaper had everyone working overtime and it was all he could do to get a cup of coffee between it all). He pushes his (disgustingly) sweaty hair from his eyes and resumes typing, thinking that he’d better stop talking to Mike so much or else all the smells will drive him crazy.

Her perfume wafts across the room again, briefly banishing the oppressive stink, and involuntarily, Levi takes a deep breath.

 _Goddamn_.

His eyes keep darting to the neatly dressed auburn-haired woman as if magnetically attracted after that. Somewhere in the back of his sleep-deprived brain he wonders what she would say if he were to ask her where exactly she bought that heavenly perfume he can’t get out of his head.


	12. jealous (eren/mikasa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published April 16, 2014  
> prompt: _Anonymous asked: do jealous eren pls_

Jean’s leaning against the wall, one hand on his hip and a weird smirk on his face. For a moment, Eren can’t believe what he’s seeing, and then it clicks as he sees a familiar head of dark hair standing beside Jean.

 _Oh, hell no, horse-face,_ he thinks, and then he’s striding towards the two. They both look up at the sound of his footsteps, Mikasa relieved (and perhaps a little worried) and Jean with that pinched face of annoyed anger that he seems to wear so often.

“What part of _Mikasa is_ my _girlfriend_ do you not get, Kirschtein?” Eren asks, putting his arm around Mikasa and glaring angrily at Jean. The other boy grits his teeth, but before he can reply, Mikasa elbows Eren in the ribs. “C’mon,” she says, and without waiting for his reply grabs his wrist and marches him away, bookbag thudding against her hip.

“Aw, Mikasa!” Eren whines. “A few more seconds and I coulda punched the bastard!”

“Remember what happened last time you and Jean fought?”

“Sent him to the nurse’s office with a bloody nose.”

“You didn’t fare much better.”

He glares, not wanting to be reminded of that, but Mikasa has hooked her arm through his. “Besides, you shouldn’t worry about that guy. I’ve already made my choice.”

“Yeah,” says Eren, and as they walk away to their next class he can’t keep the satisfied grin off his face.


	13. sunsets (levi/petra)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published April 16, 2014  
> prompt: _pammazola asked: If you care for it, how about a "Sunsets rivetra" prompt, please? Thank you :)_

the bright rays of the dying sun turn the land to fire and for the first time in a long time he thinks of warm hazel eyes and hair the color of autumn leaves and sunsets. maybe it’s because he’s on top of the wall. he always gets sentimental when fresh clean air is combined with the faint, exhausted sort of drowsiness that comes after completing a mission successfully. but whatever the reason might be, his mind finds itself brushing over thoughts of _her_ , dredging up memories buried long ago: her smile, the soft tones of her voice, the way she had of humming under her breath when she thought no one could hear.

this time, though, instead of berating himself for not trusting his instincts sooner, instead of wondering through gritted teeth at what may or may not have been, instead of flinching and recoiling from the soft lingering feel of her last frail wisps of life inside his mind, he lets her wash over him, lets her come alive again in the sun’s last auburn glow. he finds himself remembering all kinds of things about her, from the way she rode a horse to how she called him out on his bullshit time and time again, questioned him, opened avenues in his mind that he previously hadn’t thought to explore, and how she remained true to him to the end, despite it all…

he sighs and his heels thud against the wall, soft, rhythmic _tap-taps_. up here on Wall Maria, the breeze smells sweet and clear, almost like the perfume she used to wear every so often, when she felt the time was right.


	14. vacation (levi/petra)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published April 16, 2014  
> prompt: _seasaltmemories asked: Could you please do rivetra: Petra being all excited to go to Disney World with the squad while Levi thinks he's found the entrance to hell._

It’s a beautiful day. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and Levi can feel the beginnings of a headache swirling at the edges of his brain.

“Oh, lighten up!” Erd slaps Levi’s back. “We’re going to Disney World, for God’s sake!”

“Only because you idiots wouldn’t shut your fucking mouths until I said I’d come.”

“He’s just grumpy today, that’s all,” says Petra lightly, jauntily swinging their linked hands. “Don’t let him spoil your fun.”

“Like hell I’m _grumpy_ ,” Levi mutters under his breath.

There is a brief wait in line (Petra thought to purchase special passes for all of them) and then they’re through.

“Woah,” says Auruo.

 _More like no_ , Levi thinks. The bright colors are positively nauseating, and if they have to take pictures with every single character in the park Levi is pretty positive he is going to die before the day is out. As it is, every instinct is screaming at him to turn the hell around and _run_. It is only the pressure of Petra’s warm, slightly sweaty hand in his keeping him rooted to the spot.

Erd has taken a few steps forward, hands on hips. He turns back to the others with a devilish grin. “Well, why’re we just standing here admiring the scenery? Let’s _go!_ ”

In retrospect, Levi supposes, it wasn’t all bad. They rode several stomach-turning roller coasters (Levi can’t remember the names, but secretly enjoyed them immensely), ate at a (surprisingly clean) diner, and even managed to snag a few kisses from Petra in the photo booth (although after witnessing that, everyone felt compelled to put their slimy lips on Levi’s face for a photo).

Later, when they’re driving home (they live only an hour from the park), Petra wakes up just long enough to whisper “thanks, Lee,” into the sleep-heavy quiet of the car. From his place in the driver’s seat, Levi just sighs, but inwardly, he’s smiling.


	15. hips don't lie (eren/mikasa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published April 29, 2014

She walks by his studio every morning on her way to work, peering through the slightly foggy glass window to see him inside teaching a class. More often than not she sees him in the strangest (and yet the most dynamic and graceful) poses, leaping through the air like a ballerina or writhing on the floor in some complicated break-dance move. But the reason she covertly looks through that window (and she’ll never, ever admit this to anyone, not even herself) is his hips.

She didn’t even know it was _possible_ for hips to move like that, swinging and graceful and in control, tight, perfect circles, smooth swishes, sharp shakes that make her want to bite her lip because _damn_ that’s really hot and his ass is incredible and how can something like that be so elegant and so sexy all at the same time? It’s hypnotizing, in truth, and more than once she has caught herself slowing down and drawing nearer to the window just to get a better look.

Today, however, it’s Saturday, and Mikasa is going into town because she has to pick up her dry cleaning. She’s thinking about the bills that need paying and the noisy next-door neighbor and the fact that her boss really wants her to go pick up that issue of _Vogue_ or she’s fired, so she’s not looking where she’s going when the door to the dance studio opens and she slams right into him. She loses her balance and for one moment she’s falling before strong arms catch her. Somehow her body’s in the position a dancer’s is in, head thrown back and one leg lifted, body almost parallel with the ground, and she finds herself looking into a pair of startlingly green eyes.

“Careful, there,” says the instructor, helping her to right herself. “Don’t want to break a heel.”

She can feel the blush rising in her cheeks, and so she pulls her scarf around her face in a futile effort to hide it. “Sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“That’s alright. Shit happens. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

He considers her a moment before he holds out his hand. “I’m Eren,” he says. After a moment’s hesitation, she takes it. “Mikasa.”

He grins. “Nice to meet you, Mikasa.”

She can’t help but smile back. “Likewise.”

“I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then,” he says, turning around and locking the studio door. “If you’d like to continue that impromptu lesson, well…you know who to call!”

As he walks away, she can’t help but think that she’d like very much to take him up on his offer.


	16. wake and sleep (eren/mikasa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published May 7, 2014 for Eremika Fluff Week, day 4, prompt "Beneath the Stars"

it’s so quiet, except for the faint hum of the engines just beneath the range of human hearing. once every century the two of them are wakened from sleep to make sure that everything is running smoothly, that there are no damaged parts or debris lodged inside the reactor.

“All clear,” says Eren, settling into the co-pilot’s chair. Mikasa, who has already finished examining her part of the ship, is curled catlike in her seat. when Eren sits she crosses the room and climbs in his lap, resting her head against his chest and listening to the steady living beat of his heart.

he sighs and presses his lips to her hair, grabs her hand. they’ve been left alone with a century’s worth of dreams and the touch of another is a luxury and a comfort against the years slipping silently, agelessly by.

above them, the stars drift past, multicolored pinpricks of light, interspersed with delicate clouds of gas and dust and newborn suns. they’re moving impossibly fast and yet it feels so slow, almost languid, and Eren rests his head on the back of the chair and watches the universe flow by. Mikasa’s hand tightens around his, and he knows that she’s feeling what he’s feeling: a combination of fear and awe and wonder at the sheer _size_ of space, at its cold and lonely beauty.

“How much longer?” she asks. Even though they are the only two awake on the ship, her voice is quiet. There is something about the still, ancient air that is almost holy, and they don’t wish to disturb the churchlike silence.

The ship answers before Eren can: “Three hundred and fifty-seven Earth-years until arrival.”

Mikasa sighs.

They sit together in silence for long minutes beneath the stars, simply breathing, until the ship tells them that it’s time to go back to sleep. Then Mikasa caresses Eren’s cheek, feels the faint stubble there, and gently guides him in for a kiss. Gentle, gasping touches of lips on lips, until Eren’s hand twines in the hair at the back of her head and holds her face to his. When they break apart they’re breathless and breathing hard.

“Dammit,” Eren growls, his forehead against hers.

“Just three and a half more centuries,” Mikasa says, and hand-in-hand they walk back to the sleeping chamber.


	17. the fear, it consumes you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published May 18, 2014

we are _absolutely terrified_.

we try to hide it with words and yells and dreams, but it’s in the dead of night when nothing moves (nothing at all) that it emerges, shaking the body and causing sweat to make itself known on feverish skin. for some, it’s hot and fierce, a monster trying to claw its way out of our throats and manifest itself as a loud and unbroken scream (but of course we can’t do that, not when everyone is sleeping, so we bury our faces in our pillows mouths open thoughts crashing loud loud loud into one another and hovering above it all the knowledge that _I might die_ tomorrow _oh godohgodohgod_ )

but for others, it’s cold. it caresses our spines with sharp frozen talons and we shudder and sob oh so quietly into our pillows and think about what it will feel like to die. will it be quick? will our last sight be a pair of stained molars growing ever larger much too quickly; will we feel it as our heads burst open inside their mouths? or will it be slow? will we scream as our intestines spill bloody and steaming into the smoky air, will we cry as our flesh is consumed as we struggle against their unbreakable grips ( _PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE OH MY GOD LET GO OF ME OH GOD GOD GOD_ ) and look into their eyes and _see_ that sick, rancid glee? how does it feel to leave your body? what happens? where do you go?

we are supposed to be strong.

we are supposed to be brave.

(and we are, because there is no other choice, not here, not here)

but there are times when we don’t see any _point_ in this, times when all we want to do is escape the terror and the silence and the hell within our heads, what we’ve seen and done playing endlessly in a nightmarish loop that _we cannot turn off_ , only shove away into some out-of-sight corner of our brains.

(we are murderers)

we are humanity’s last hope and we _cannot_ crumble.


	18. water (levi/petra)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published June 8, 2014  
> prompt: _khelish asked: rivetra and water?_

She couldn’t believe her eyes. There, on the rocks: a man’s naked torso, glowing pale in the moonlight. Upon closer inspection she discerned that his lower half was merely submerged beneath the water rather than absent entirely. Hesitantly, she nudged the top of his head with the toe of her boot. _Is he dead?_ she wondered, taking in his slightly open mouth and ghostly pallor. The next time, she was much more forceful, sliding the sole of her shoe in his hair. “Hel-“

There was a monumental splashing noise, and an inescapable grip on her collar dragged her to the ground. “ _I_ ,” growled the man, his face shadowed and angry, “am not a doormat for you to wipe your _filthy_ boots on!”

“And _I_ ,” said Petra coolly, drawing her cutlass and pressing it to the exposed flesh of the stranger’s neck, “don’t take kindly to being manhandled by men I’ve just met!”

His slanting eyes narrowed further and then he released her, backing away. Petra straightened and adjusted her collar. She meant to tell the man exactly what would happen if he pulled something like that again, but the words got lost on the way to her mouth.

Where legs should have been, an obsidian fish tail glimmered darkly instead. Noticing her dumbfounded expression, the man scoffed. “What, never seen a merperson before? And from the way you dress I’d have thought you were a sailor!”

“I _am!_ ” Petra managed to splutter. “It’s just…just…”

“Spare me,” the merman said, rolling his eyes. He slid deeper into the water and began to scrub his hair, shooting Petra glares all the while.

“Sorry,” Petra said sheepishly, pressing her lips together.

“And I just _sanitized_ it, too,” he grumbled, still furiously rubbing his dark locks. Petra giggled. “Clean freak.”

“Damn right.”

“Here,” said Petra suddenly, unclipping her bag of jerky from her belt. “I’m really sorry about…waking you.”

The merman ceased his frenzied scrubbing and took it, sniffing suspiciously. “It’s dried meat,” Petra said. “I don’t expect you get much of it, down in the deep.”

He tore a strip with his teeth, chewing thoughtfully. “I’ve had better,” he muttered at last, but Petra noticed that he didn’t give it back.

“Tell you what,” said the merman, swallowing. “If you meet me here, same time tomorrow, and bring a bag of that stuff, I might just forgive you.”

“Agreed,” said Petra, smiling in spite of herself as the merman gave her one last dark look before his eyes vanished beneath the waves along with the rest of him.


	19. first expedition (levi/petra)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published June 8, 2014  
> prompt: _Anonymous asked: rivetra, Petra's first expedition_

he takes her out because he kind of wants to crush that nauseatingly eager gleam in her eyes.

(he envies her, actually. to her, beyond the wall is a great unknown, filled with limitless possibilities. a part of him almost wishes to feel that again, because so little in his life nowadays is remotely exciting in that particular way.)

it’s the usual: scout the plains in an (vain) attempt to find anything new. everyone’s tense as they scan the horizon for titans. when the formation veers left, however, Levi’s blood runs cold, because the ground is shaking…

the titan shudders into view amidst shouts and screams, followed closely by a second. from behind, Levi hears a terrified shriek. Petra’s fallen from her horse, and that means she’s probably going to become titan food shortly. against his better judgment, Levi veers around, grabbing her and pulling her on behind him.

it’s only later, when a very shell-shocked Petra is sitting wrapped up in a blanket in front of a fire, that Levi realizes that she smells suspiciously like shit, and so does he. with a noise of disgust, he stalks off to the bathroom to bathe.


	20. modern (levi/hange)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published June 8, 2014  
> prompt: _Anonymous asked: LeviHan - modern au_

“You’re gone too often, Shitty Glasses.”

“Am I now?”

“Yeah.”

“You should come with me. Collecting plankton samples is _exciting_. Plus, your students don’t like you very much anyway.”

“Disregarding that last comment…I think I will.”

“Really?”

“Ow…fuck… _yes_ , four-eyes.”

“Promise?”

Levi sighs. “I’m probably going to regret this.”

“Say yes,” says Hange, narrowing their eyes and smiling, “or no sex for a month.”

Levi groans. “ _Fine_. I’ll join you on your crazy-ass adventures. Promise.”

“That’s the spirit. We can go scuba diving and whale watching and get that lovely white ass of yours a tan.”

“Shut up.”

Hange’s mouth finds Levi’s. “Gladly,” they mumble against his lips. “And quit gnawing my neck. I’m sick of wearing scarves to work.”

“You’re one to talk,” Levi murmurs. “I keep getting weird looks because of that damn cravat.”

Hange giggles. “I’ll never forget the look on your face at Christmas, when you opened the box and _there it was._ Although I’ve gotta admit, you actually look kind of sexy in it.”

“Oh really?” Levi asks, staring into Hange’s eyes. “You think so?”

“ _Yes_ ,” they say, and Levi gives a most un-Levilike grin. “I’m glad.”


	21. execution (levi/petra)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published June 8, 2014  
> prompt: _Anonymous asked: rivetra, execution_

what power a little piece of metal can have.

at least it’s quick. Hange’s head jerked back and then slumped forward, their body going limp. fierce fire was replaced with cold emptiness in less than a heartbeat, cracked glasses dripping from the hooked nose to land in the grass with a sad, muted thud. and then Erwin. he was calm and stately and retained a measure of chill dignity, even in chains. the blood flowing from his temple looked so odd against his pristine uniform.

her hands are scratched raw and bloody, inner cheek and lips chewed to a pulp. tears brim in her eyes and one by one drip down her face, clinging to her chin until they grow too heavy to bear.

and now it’s him. his dark hair is lank and he’s covered in bruises, because he was so fierce, so stubborn. but now all the anger has drained away. now, if anything, he looks…tired. a little grumpy. like he was just woken from a nap.

_LeviLeviLevi_

she thinks of his smile, suddenly, just as the gun goes off and he topples face-first into the grass, limp, like a ragdoll.

she doesn’t cry when they push her roughly forward, yank her chains so she falls to her knees. was this cause worth dying for? was overthrowing the king really the right thing to do?

she thinks of Levi, then, of his fierce gray eyes, of the feel of his lips on hers. she hears the beginnings of a _bang_ , and then all goes dark and she can’t catch the rest.


	22. fever (levi/hange)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published June 9, 2014  
> prompt: _Anonymous asked: levi gets a very bad fever and hanji cares for him?_

It wasn’t intentional. Levi was in a very big hurry and _damn it all_ if a little rain was going to get in the way. Now, however, he wonders if perhaps taking a cab and paying a little more money wouldn’t have been a better idea. He can’t stop sneezing and his eyes are watery and his head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. In short: he feels like _shit_.

“You know,” says Hanji, as if reading his thoughts, “if you would’ve taken a cab this wouldn’t have happened.”

“I _know_ , Shiddy Glasses. Don’d fucking rub it in.”

“Then quit whining about it, you big baby.”

Levi relaxes back on the couch and sighs, but sits up quickly because lying flat with a stuffy nose is not a pleasant sensation.

He feels a cool hand on his forehead. “You have a fever,” says Hanji.

“No shid, Sherlock.”

They sigh. “Here. Chicken soup. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

Levi takes a sip. The broth is warm and flavorful, filling his whole body with warmth. Soon the bowl is empty and he feels marginally less delirious. “Thanks,” he says, so quietly he’s not sure Hanji heard. But they smile and soon a glass of water and two Tylenols are pressed into his hand. “Take these and go to bed,” they say. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”

They know him too well. In a rare gesture of affection he kisses Hanji’s forehead and shuffles off to bed.


	23. hearth (mike/hange)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published June 9, 2014  
> prompt: _khelish asked: umm could u indulge me w/ another? for a rarepair? mikehan and hearth, if thats ok with you!_

Hange likes blankets. Mike knows this. That’s why, when he spots them curled up on a chair in front of the fire, he brings them one, gently draping it over their sleeping form. He does this every evening. It’s a special part of his routine, because he gets to sit in a chair close to them and breathe in their scent all he wants and not seem overly conspicuous. They have a very nice smell. Beneath the sweat and body odor there’s cinnamon and curiosity and smoke.

He could live off that aroma.

It comes as a shock, then, that one evening he comes bearing a quilt and Hange is awake, watching him with half-lidded brown eyes. “So it’s you,” they say, and Mike nods. He strides forward and spreads it over them, carefully tucking in the edges.

Hange’s eyes slide closed. “Thank you,” they murmur, and Mike has to resist the sudden urge to tuck a clump of hair behind their ear. Instead he sits down and quietly inhales the scent of spices and flames and scientific desire. He becomes aware that Hange is watching him. “Why do you do it?” they ask. “Why not just wake me and send me to bed?”

Mike shrugs. “You seem to like the flames.”

Hange exhales sharply through their nose, a smile dusting their lips. “That I do, Mike. You’re an observant one. I like that about you.”

He smiles back. When their fingers find each other’s, they grab hold. Neither pulls away, not even when they fall asleep.


	24. overheard (armin/mikasa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published June 11, 2014  
> prompt: _madnimrod asked: writing prompt: Armin talks to Hanji about his feelings for Mikasa, unaware that Mikasa is listening from the other side of the door._

“…don’t know what to do.”

Armin’s voice wafts towards her from under a nearby door. Concerned, Mikasa comes forward, intending to open it and find out just what’s going on.

“Tell her,” Hanji says, her tone sympathetic, and Mikasa freezes, hand on the knob. “At least that way it’ll all be out in the open. I’m sure she’ll still want to be your friend.”

A deep breath. “Y…yeah, okay. Thanks, Hanji.”

“No problem,” Hanji says. “Come back and tell me how it goes. You’ve got me interested, Arlert.”

Mikasa runs away down the corridor as fast as her feet can take her.

* * *

It’s not like it would happen anyway. Mikasa knows she comes across as cold, distant, even unlikable. That fact has never bothered her, not really, but occasionally she wonders what it would be like to receive welcoming smiles instead of stares of awe and fear.

Armin, however, has always been able to see past the cold exterior, and because of that, some part of her had perhaps yearned for him to look a little closer, grip a little tighter. Though, in retrospect, she should have expected this. He’s fifteen now, bound to find himself attracted to another girl. Mikasa sighs, prodding her food. She should just-

“M…Mikasa?”

She looks up. It’s Armin. He’s nervous, she can tell by the way he fiddles with his hands.

“Um…can I talk to you for a second?”

She indicates the open space beside her on the bench.

“Ah…outside…alone?”

Mikasa swallows. “Okay.” She gets up and follows him to the stairs, where they sit side-by-side.

For a long time, Armin is silent. He seems to be trying to say something. Mikasa looks at him pointedly.

At last, after many deeply-drawn breaths, Armin swears. Staring straight ahead, he blurts, “MikasaIreallywanttokissyouokay?”

She sits in stunned silence.

She thinks the blush turning his whole face crimson is absolutely adorable, so she kisses him.

Later, she can’t help but smile, because maybe Armin can see all of her after all.


	25. seaside sunset (armin/mikasa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published June 11, 2014  
> prompt: _ayyeight asked: if you're still taking the prompts, how about mikasa confessing her feelings to armin?_

The salt is sticky on their skin and the breeze is warm, stronger up on the cliff that it was down on the beach. Below, the ocean crashes into the rocks with a loud rushing noise, sending spray all the way up to dust their toes. The sun is going down, large and blood red, putting up a spectacular fight as it sinks beneath the waves. They don’t speak, because words cannot capture the beauty of what they see here, endless ocean that meets a horizon that goes on forever and ever, unmarred by fear and titans and other such nightmares.

They spent the whole day splashing in the waves. Both have sunburns, faces and backs an angry red.

It’s only when the sun is almost completely drowned that Mikasa’s hand gently settles on top of Armin’s. He glances at her but she looks straight ahead, and Armin can’t help but smile as he lifts the hand she took and loops his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Gently, he presses his lips to the top of her head. Mikasa sighs, adjusting her form against his.

They don’t speak, because words cannot capture the beauty of what they feel here. They both understand one another perfectly nonetheless.


	26. storm (mike/hange)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published July 22, 2014  
> prompt: _khelish asked: !!! Storm for mikehan_

days consist mostly of a pen scribbling so furiously across parchment that ink is sent flying, pondering the impossible conundrum that is the titans’ existence, and the occasional foray beyond the walls, at which point it’s all they can do to try and garner at least a tiny piece of information about those giant beasts and still stay alive. not to mention, of course, their duties as a high-ranking member of the Survey Corps: meetings, paperwork, managing their squad, more pointless chit-chat, and escorting teenage vagabonds to trials that could possibly determine the fate of every single human being within the walls. move along, nothing to see here, this maelstrom is all part of the routine, blah blah blah.

nights, however, are an entirely different story. in the darkness it’s quiet and calm, the eye of the storm. perhaps that’s why they like him so much: he’s like their nights, silent and unflappable and tender. in bed he caresses them, big warm hands trailing lines of slow fire down their sides, lips murmuring warm endearments into their neck, stomach, mouth, rough hairy legs tangled with theirs. he makes them feel alive in an entirely different way that the frantic motions of their day-to-day existence, and in the dark their bodies twine together in that ancient dance that countless others have performed and will continue to perform until the end of time, sometimes gentle and sometimes fierce and sometimes slow and deep and sensual.

he is their refuge, their peace, their ocean; at night they dive into his dark and silent depths and he brushes away the tense knot that’s formed in their stomach with impossible ease. afterwards they’ll cuddle and talk and laugh, basking in the half-drunken afterglow of lovemaking and too little sleep. they cherish these nights, each a pearl in their memory to be opened and relived when things get a little too intense.

(all the time, though, they try not to think of what would happen if they lost him.)


	27. crack (mike/hange)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published August 18, 2014  
> prompt: _khelish asked: "crack" for mikehan?_

it starts small.

hange finds themselves losing focus more easily. losing sleep. sometimes they’ll turn and look around behind them, expecting him to be where he always is, but he’s not. never will be again.

it’s the nights that become the most hellish part of their life, because then the memories come hard and fast, _bam bam bam,_ like bullets or punches that they’re powerless to stop. some nights they’ll curl up silent and others they’ll pace, moaning and muttering and trying their hardest not to scream. hange begins keeping the oddest hours, burying themselves in their work when they simply cannot stand it anymore. one night they kiss moblit when he brings them a blanket and then break down in tears because _he’s not him_. hange’s heart cracks then, spilling out in thick viscous words from their mouth, and moblit listens without a word, for which hange is grateful.


	28. first date (mike/hange)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published August 18, 2014  
> prompt: _commandercurls asked: YOOOOOOOO mikehan. Uh. A prompt for mikehan. How bout first date?_

She swings through the buildings, effortless, but the smooth motions belie her feral grin, the manic glint in her eyes. With a sound between a yell and a snarl she flings herself in the air, backflipping gracefully onto the titan’s neck and ripping it open with one swift stroke. As it collapses, she jets away, towards where he is. “How’s _that_ for a first-date present?” she smirks, crossing her arms, bloody blades still gripped in her hands. Mike doesn’t say anything, but she can tell he’s impressed. He shakes his head a little and Hange laughs, punching his arm. “ _Told_ you I could do it, didn’t I? Now let’s go bag some more.” Impulsively she kisses him on the cheek and then jets away, joining the rest of the fledgling members of the Survey Corps.


	29. good as gold (eren/mikasa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published October 12, 2014 for Eremika week, day six, prompt "That Night"

frost blooms on the windowpanes, delicate and spiderlike. Mikasa shivers a little in her robe. outside, the wind slams itself against the house, howling and rumbling like it wants to lift the small structure and slam it back down against the earth; such is the storm’s fury.

behind her, Eren moans. Mikasa swallows a little and her hand brushes the knife hidden heavy in her pocket. she doesn’t want to turn around, doesn’t want to know if it’s time, but she does anyway, faces him and walks to him and sweeps damp sweaty strands of hair from his pale, pale forehead. she banishes the prickling in her eyes as she does so.

“’re they here yet?” he mumbles, leaning into her touch. “No,” she tells him softly, but what she doesn’t say is they’ll probably never come.

(it happened so quickly: he was holding a can of fruit triumphantly and then teeth closed around his shoulder. the five of them were nothing against the Changed. she remembers Marco’s scream, an agonized, terrified thing cut abruptly short with a choked gurgle)

“Aah,” he sighs. “’M so thirsty.”

wordlessly, she unzips his backpack and pulls out a bottled water. “Drink,” she tells him, and he does. when he opens his eyes, one of them is luminous gold. when they meet hers, he smiles. “You’re so pretty, Mika,” he says, and somehow she doesn’t cry, somehow she checks the ropes looped tightly round his legs, his wrists, his forehead, somehow she drags her eyes to his shoulder. the skin around the bandages is sick, rotten-looking, webbed with black lines. eren watches her in bemusement, the one golden eye glowing softly in the darkness. “So pretty,” he mumbles, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Mikasa swallows. stares into the one remaining eye, a soft, smoky gray, already shot through with filaments of luminescent gold.

“Do you still remember,” she says softly, “when we were kids, before the Plague?”

Eren has to think. Mikasa’s blood runs cold. “Yes,” he says finally. “Armin had a book.”

“Armin had a book,” she agrees. “And we’d sit under an apple tree and he’d read it to us until his voice cracked.”

“Yes.”

“And…and more than anything we wanted to be explorers when we grew up. Travel the world, see the sights, discover new wonders no one had seen before…Eren?”

“Mmm.”

“I loved listening to you talk about it.”

he blinks. the gold is brighter now.

“You’re so _alive,_ you know…I think that’s a reason why I fell in love with you.”

“Pretty,” he murmurs, but there’s no recognition in his eyes. Mikasa’s fingers close around the hilt.

it varies from person to person. some Change in a matter of seconds, lids lifting to reveal eyes of pure gold. for others, the Change is a long, excruciating process, leaving them battered and weak until at last the Plague takes root in their systems and turns them into monsters.

Eren eases into it, slowly, gently. it’s almost frightening, because he was never one to just _give up_ like this. his breathing ceases and his body relaxes. Mikasa grips the knife, positions it over his eye. and waits.

for a while there’s no sound but the howl of the wind buffeting the walls. Mikasa’s hands don’t shake.

and then his eyes snap open, and they’re gold, pure, brilliant gold, rich and hypnotizing and alien. a part of Mikasa is frightened. she grips the knife tighter.

the eyes flick to her, then, and for a second she feels like she’s drowning. “Eren,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.” she raises the knife and is just about to plunge it down when-

“Mikasa,” says the Changed, and she almost drops the knife because usually they can’tremember anything from their past lives.

“Mikasa,” it repeats, and her gut sinks horribly. sometimes the Changed have a word on their tongue, the last thought in their ravaged mind. “So pretty,” it says, and its liquid gold eyes soften. one arm moves as if to lift, but it’s bound and tied. so fast its neck cracks, the Changed turns his head to stare at the ropes encircling its right wrist.

the Changed is silent, still. Mikasa is about to make that condition permanent when it turns to face her again, golden eyes wide, horrified. “Oh my God,” it says, voice cracking. “ _Oh my God!”_ Its eyes meet hers, and then the thing that used to be Eren begins to cry, deep, wracking sobs that make its whole body shake. It starts babbling, then, about apple trees and books and an expedition gone wrong, about fruit and freedom and the way her hair smelled, about that stupid asshole Jean, about Historia, who knew something, and Hange and Levi and all the other survivors back at the compound and all sorts of things only _Eren_ could know, like the fact that she never learned to ride a bike or that Armin was an incredible cook and with a soft choked noise from a place deep within her she takes the Changed’s hand and whispers, “Eren?”

Golden eyes, so different from the familiar stormy gray, meet hers. He smiles, wobbly, weak, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I think so.”


	30. fire and ice (eren/annie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published March 28, 2015 for Ereannie week, day 4, prompt "Fire and Ice"

“You’ll melt in this heat,” she says quietly.

His eyes flick up to hers. They’re wide and glacial gray and they _burn._ “No,” he says, “I won’t.”

“Suit yourself.”

He inhales, and it’s like the world brightens: colors sharpen and objects coalesce out of the dim flickering shadows and for a moment or two she feels it and shivers because she’s never been cold before and it’s _wonderful._ Languidly she watches as the ice creeps across his skin, rebuilding that which her fire took from him.

“What would it take for you to die?” she asks.

He smirks. On his charred and withered face, the expression looks gruesome. “Why, so you can kill me in my sleep?”

“No. A frail, weak fire elemental like me couldn’t possibly do anything of the kind. I’m only curious.”

Eren snorts, but otherwise doesn’t reply. The flesh of his face turns from blackened ruin to smooth brown skin. His lips and hair reappear first as a delicate latticework of ice crystals and then the real thing. Annie blinks, taking it in. _I envy you,_ she thinks, but the words that fall from her lips instead are “Are you immortal?”

“No.”

“But you seem to have an unlimited capacity for regeneration. That makes you practically so, no?”

His lips twist. “I’ve been around a while, yeah. So what?”

“ _So,_ ” she says, “how long is a while?”

“Mmm…two hundred? Two fifty? I’m not sure. Why does it matter?”

Her shoulders lift. “I’m curious.”

“How old are you?”

She smiles. “Five.”

His eyebrows lift. “You’re a child.”

“I’m nearing the end of my life. Fire burns quickly. Like a ravenous beast, consuming and consuming until there’s nothing left.”

“When’s your…expiration date?”

She sighs. “Too soon.”

“ _How_ soon?”

“A year? A month? I don’t know. The oldest of my kind lived a full decade before going out. You don’t know when it’s going to be.”

His eyebrows knit together and he looks at her, sharp, outraged. “It’s not fair,” he says. “Why do you only get ten years and I get a thousand?”

“I wonder that too.”

He stands. His fists are clenched by his sides. He’s still looking at her. His throat bobs, so achingly human, so fragile. If she wanted, she could burn a hole right through his skinny neck with nothing more than a flick of her finger.

“But,” she murmurs softly, “I’m not dead yet,” and her flames roar delightedly inside her, spill across her skin and kindle in her eyes, and she smiles as she flies at him, smiles at the quickness of his movements as he rises to meet her, as she feels his cold cold leg collide hard and deliciously painfully with her own.

 _You don’t have to hold back,_ she’d told him a thousand lifetimes ago, and she tells it to him now because she knows that he sees her as something fragile now, something breakable, and it’s why she didn’t enlighten him on the exact nature of a fire elemental’s lifespan until this moment, because she knows him and she knows that he’s addicted to her, to her heat and her warmth and her fire, even as she’s addicted to the feel of his frozen body on her own.

His flesh sizzles, burns, blackens, but he doesn’t let up, pummels her with a barrage of kicks and punches, and she’s dodging and dancing back and waiting for the moment when he reaches too far because there’s this peculiar sort of desperation in his eyes and she’s seen that desperation before, knows it all too well, and so knows that it’s only a matter of time until-

she ducks and her blow, it’s so hard that it burns a hole through his chest and she feels the clear water within him, feels it extinguish her flames and shudder up her arm between her ribs, _cold,_ exhilarating, new, different, and her eyes slide shut and she savors it, even as he falls to his knees taking her with him. he doesn’t pull her arm out of his chest, though. they stay crouched like that, fire and ice, and after a long long time she opens her eyes to see that he’s looking at her, soft and hard all at once.

“I’ve never understood,” he tells her, frowning, “what it’s like to be warm, but I think-“ and he looks at his chest, at her arm flickering with flames, melting his ice as it tries to heal the gaping hole there – “I think I like it.”

when he kisses her, she lets him. she doesn’t pull her arm out of his torso, but that’s all right. neither of them seem to mind.


	31. valentine's day (mike/hange)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published May 14, 2015  
> prompt: _khelish asked: omg could you do a valentines drabble for mikehan. if u need a prompt maybe the word warmth or sweets?_

in another universe, where the air is clear and there is no blood spattered across the canvas of their hearts, mike stops by a little shop and buys a box of chocolates. the day is unusually warm for February and he can’t help but smile as he breathes it in, the scents of sunshine and water and living things tentatively beginning to thaw. in another universe, mike gets in his car and drives to hange’s apartment, close to the college where they work as a professor of biological science. he rings the bell and when they emerge he smiles and gives them the chocolates and hange squeals like a twelve-year-old girl and flings their arms around him because _where did you find these?! they’re ultra-rare and super expensive, mike, oh, you shouldn’t have!_ but he only smiles and the two of them spend the day out on the town, sightseeing and doing nothing in particular. in another universe, mike and hange curl up on the couch in the evening and eat expensive chocolate and watch movies and talk about life, and when they’re done with that they go to bed and kiss and fuck and laugh and sleep deep, dreamless, beautiful sleeps. in another universe they’re whole and happy and their biggest worries are that project at work or what to have for dinner in that night.

but in their reality, there is no such thing as cars or movies and chocolate is so rare as to be nothing more than a half-remembered dream. there is no such thing as valentine’s day and February is only ever cold and snow-covered. here, they have blood on their hands and in their hearts and they are perhaps cracked and broken beyond repair, but nonetheless, one chilly night finds them by the fireplace, huddled together in chairs beneath the same blanket, dozing quietly, hanging suspended in a little bubble of peace.


	32. take your time coming home (sasha/connie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally published May 5, 2018

That night he dreams he’s back home, under the stars and the wind and the tall pine trees, and his mother’s calling him, _Connie, dinner!_ When he turns around his small house is nestled in a neat row of other small houses, right where it should be – and why shouldn’t it be there? The windows are lit a flickering, buttery gold in the gathering dusk, and his mother is silhouetted in the doorframe, steady callused hands lifted to cup her mouth. He remembers being small, his own little fingers all tangled up in those hands, the warmth in them.

“Connie, dinner,” says a younger voice, much closer, and when he looks down it’s Martin, who grins and thwaps his head with a fist, cat-quick. “Quit daydreaming, dummy, the food’ll get cold.”

“I’ve missed you,” Connie replies, and his brother only laughs before darting away from Connie’s reaching hand.

He starts walking towards the house. The wind picks up, cool and sweet-smelling, making the trees rustle, tugging at his clothes. Through one window he can see his father and his sister sitting at the dinner table – Sunny’s face is lit up like her namesake, limned in firelight – and his mother is still standing on the stoop; he sees her turn to chide Martin as he ducks around her and through the door. The closer Connie gets the harder the wind gusts, the colder it becomes, until it is an icy howl tearing viciously through him. This isn’t unusual, really; they live close to the mountains and sometimes in the winter frozen gales come screaming from the peaks to rattle the windows of the cottage. On those days they all huddle together in bed and Mother and Father tell stories. When Connie looks up his house is a blur, his mother is a blur, he can hardly see for the tears brought on by the frigid gusts. It’s a relief when he feels the worn wooden steps of the stoop beneath his boots.

He opens the door and warmth washes over him; the wind stops, and he finds himself standing in the middle of his kitchen, bathed in sunlight. A vase of wildflowers sits on the sill over the sink. Outside he can hear the faint sounds of children’s laughter, and the air smells sweet and cloying. Someone very close by is singing, just a little off-key. When he turns around he sees it’s Sasha, and for an inexplicable moment his throat closes up and something in his chest _aches._

“Oh, hey, Connie,” she says, catching his eye.

“Hey, Sash,” he replies, and sits down at the table. “What’re you cooking?”

“Stew,” she says, and the odor fills the air, thick and rich. “M’just about done. Ooh, it’s gonna be great.” She licks her lips and grins at him before turning around to fiddle with something on the counter. She’s wearing a long skirt and boots and her hair is tied back in a ponytail – and why wouldn’t it be? Connie finds himself watching the way it sways ever so slightly with her little movements, the way it catches the sunlight. Watching the way Sasha herself catches the sunlight, her clever callused hands, the little smile on her face as she hums to herself.

She bends down to lift the lid off the pot in the fireplace; she must like what she sees because her eyes light up like they do and she gives a little moan of delight before grabbing a bowl and filling it as full as it’ll go.

“What’re you waiting for?” she asks, when she sees he still hasn’t moved from the table. “Come and get it.”

Connie shakes his head. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

They sit and eat and don’t say anything for a time. The stew is savory and tastes wonderful, and Connie closes his eyes, feels it melt in his mouth. Sasha eats with characteristic gusto, and by the time he finishes his first bowl she’s already midway through her second.

“Not to be rude or anything,” Connie says, “but what’re you doing here?”

“What, here in your house?”

At Connie’s nod she laughs. “You’re dreaming, silly. You should ask yourself that. I’m just working with what I’m given.” She looks around, at the kitchen, out the windows. Something in her eyes softens. “You had a nice house, Connie. I’d’ve liked to see it for real, sometime.”

“I’d’ve liked you to see it,” he says, and when he looks down at himself he’s clad in black and hard gleaming metal. His breath catches in his throat. Sasha is smiling at him, but there are tears in her eyes, and two slip down her cheek one after the other as he watches.

“God damn it,” Connie says, “you’re dead, aren’t you, Sash.”

She blows out a big breath and stands up. A moment later her arms come around him and her chin drops on top of his head. Her ponytail brushes his cheek. It’s soft, and smells of earth and fresh air and wild, growing things, and this time the lump in his throat doesn’t go away. He reaches up and twines his fingers with hers against his chest. They feel so real. _She_ feels so real, solid and warm, her breath tickling his scalp. “God _damn_ it,” Connie chokes out again, and then somehow they’re standing up, pressed together, arms locked around each other and Connie never, ever wants to let her go.

“I never got to tell you,” she mumbles thickly into the side of his neck. “That. You’re special too. To me, I mean. But. In general also. The most specialest special friend I’ve ever had.”

“We should’ve gotten together as kids, or something,” Connie thinks or maybe says, “we lived nearish each other, we could’ve met, could’ve – could’ve had more time – “

“Haha yeah, wow, we would’ve been _best_ friends as kids – I never had a best friend, did you know? Not til I met you. And Jean. And Mikasa, and Eren, and Armin, and, and,” and she pulls away to look at him, “and I don’t want to leave, there’s still so much left to do!”

“Sasha,” Connie begins, but then she kisses him on the cheek, the forehead, the nose, quick and fleeting, anywhere on his face she can reach. Every place her mouth touches burns, burns, burns, and when Connie’s lips find hers at last, that burns most of all.

They stand like that for several minutes, or hours, or days, wrapped in each other. “Shoulda done this sooner,” Sasha mumbles against his mouth, and at that Connie has to laugh, despite himself, despite everything. When he looks out the window it’s sunset, rays of light piercing the windows and turning the kitchen a weird shade of orange that makes it seem like it’s glowing, almost.

“I’d’ve liked to, to live here, or somewhere like here, once all this was over,” Connie mumbles into her hair. “A little house and a farm. No more dying. Plenty of food.”

“That sounds wonderful,” says Sasha. “I’d have liked that too. Very much. Oh, damn it! You’d better not die before the end of that,” and there’s something fierce in her eyes. “You and Jean, take care of each other, okay? _Live._ ” She steps out of his embrace and then clasps his hands with her own. “You’re…you’re waking up now, so. So. Bye, Connie. I’m glad we – “

He’s sitting down, back pushed up against something hard and face pressed into someone’s shoulder. Around him the world rocks gently, and there’s a low, mechanical hum in the air. His entire body aches abominably, especially his back. There’s a hollow pit where his stomach should be. “Sasha?” he murmurs groggily. “Sasha, I just had the strangest dream.”


End file.
